"Anyway she was hairy, that's what I want to say and being hairy as a gorilla she got my mind off the music and on to her c**t. I was so damned eager to see that c**t of hers that finally one day I bribed her little brother to let me have a peep at her while she was in the bath. It was even more wonderful than I had imagined: she had a shag that reached from the navel to the crotch, an enormous thick tuft, a sporran, rich as a hand-woven rug. When she went over it with the powder puff I though I would faint. The next time she came for the lesson I left a couple of buttons open on my fly. She didn't seem to notice anything amiss. The following time I left my whole fly open. This time she caught on. She said, "I think you've forgotten something, Henry." I looked at her, red as a beet, and I asked her blandly what? She pretended to look away while pointing to it with her left hand. Her hand came so close that I couldn't resist grabbing it and pushing it into my fly. She got up quickly, looking pale and frightened. By this time my prick was out of my fly and quivering with delight. I closed in on her and I reached up under her dress to get at that hand-woven rug."
(Tropic of Capricorn, Henry Miller)
Case closed.